Chapter 5: Stay With Me

A few weeks later I was in the shop sweeping weld spatter. The weather had cooled – Christmas was just two weeks away – so I had the electric heater running and could hear its soft purr. I had just bent over to swish the little silver nodules into the dustpan when my phone chimed. It was her.

“Would you like to see a movie at my place tonight?” read Charlotte’s text.

“Sure!” I replied. “What time? What movie? What can I bring?”

A moment passed. Then:

“Six. Arrival. Bring popcorn. I’ll order pizza.”

Arrival. I’d seen it once. I leaned the broom into a corner and walked to the house. I showered and shaved and put on a long-sleeved, red-striped shirt and blue jeans, then in the pantry I grabbed popcorn kernels, truffle oil, and a bottle of Pinot Noir. I loaded everything into a paper bag, took a heavy fleece jacket off a hook, and walked to the Ford. It was already dark and the barn light threw a yellow puddle of light on the ground.

Charlotte lives about fifteen minutes from my place, in a trim blue rambler. Before I could knock, the door opened. She was wearing a soft slate-blue knit that hung loose on her, and a black woolen vest. Her hair was in a low, messy bun, and I noticed the brooch I bought for her at Hopi House clipped to the vest. “Hello,” she said, smiling. “Come on in. The Pizza de Roma guy was just here.”

As I stepped inside, she put her right hand on my shoulder and brushed a quick kiss against my cheek. It was soft and cool yet somehow loaded with voltage. She had a small Christmas tree in one corner; bright colored lights neatly arranged on its branches. “One margherita, one Elote,” she said, lifting the pizza box lids. “Guess which is yours.” I pointed at the margherita. Charlotte nodded. “And I already poured some Pinot.” She handed me a glass, then took a sip of her own and leaned against the counter.

We ate standing. I was chewing on a wedge of the margherita when a legal pad on the counter caught my eye. “Burton Road Therapy Center” was written at the top in her precise longhand. Below that she had listed the next steps: “Find property/barn. Horse? Maybe two. Advertise.” Scribbled at the bottom: “Twenty-thousand dollars.”

The donation I had arranged.

Charlotte noticed me reading it. “Any thoughts?” she asked. I rubbed my chin with my hand. “It seems like finding the property is the biggest hurdle.” She nodded. “It is. But amazingly – I have money to get started. It was the – the strangest thing. The money came through a charitable group that supports mental health initiatives. I don’t even know how they heard about me.”

My face felt hot. I debated telling her but tamped it down. Instead, I took the wine glasses to the coffee table and sat on the dark blue couch. Charlotte followed me and picked up the remote. I took my shoes off and propped my stockinged feet on the coffee table, then remembered my manners. “Do you mind?” I asked. She shook her head. I shifted a little until our hips touched. She leaned into me.

The movie started. A linguist, Louise Banks, makes contact with two seven-limbed aliens – the heptapods.

Ten minutes into it my phone chimed. I tried to ignore it but looked at the screen. “It’s Peter,” I said.

“Who?”

“Peter. You met him a few weeks ago when he stopped by the shop,” I said. “He wants to know what I’m doing and whether we could get a beer.” I handed her the phone. “You text him back – in French, he thinks he’s fluent. Tell him we’re under the comforter and I’m running my hands all over your body. That’ll fix him.”

Charlotte smirked and began typing. “Coucou Peter. On regarde un film sous la couverture. Thomas revient avec du vin. Il ne peut pas garder ses mains pour lui. Voilà.”

I laughed. “The poor guy probably is about to faint.” She pushed the play button.

Louise’s visions of her daughter are not flashbacks, but flash forwards; Louise is seeing her life ahead.

Charlotte gasped softly and put her hand to her mouth. “Oh wow. This changes everything. She’s experiencing events that haven’t happened yet.”

“I know,” I said. “I couldn’t follow this the first time I saw it.”

She put her hand down. “The Louise character knows what will happen to her, and does it anyway. That’s terrifying.”

The movie played out: In a bittersweet coda, Banks realizes she will have a child despite knowing the child will die from an incurable disease.

We sat for a minute as the closing credits played, the glow of the screen lighting our faces, the slow violins of the score washing over us. “Wow,” Charlotte said again. “That is a movie that leaves a mark. But I liked it.”

I reached up and turned on a lamp. Charlotte shifted in her seat, then she cleared her throat. “Something on your mind?” I asked.

“Yes, there is,” she said. “I have a question for you.”

“Go ahead.”

She moved a little closer and looked carefully at my face. I was about to kiss her when she began. “If you had something good,” she said, “But discovered it wouldn’t stay good forever – like in the movie – what would you do?” She paused. “Would you keep it, or let it go?”

The lamp reflected in the turquoise brooch I had bought for her. “Give me a second for that one,” I said. I got up and went into the kitchen, poured some popcorn into a big saucepan, and turned on the heat. When the popping stopped, I tipped the white popcorn into a large bowl and sprinkled it with truffle oil and salt. It smelled earthy and delicious. When I carried the bowl to the sofa, Charlotte lifted the edge of the comforter she had thrown over her knees. I slipped in beside her. “Well?” she asked.

“One follow-up,” I said. “Tell me – how good is this thing you’re talking about?”

Now she came even closer and her head fell gently against my shoulder. Her hair smelled of lavender.

“It’s very good,” she said quietly. “Very, very good.”

I chewed a kernel. She turned her face up to mine.

 “Sometimes you have to accept the bad to keep the good,” I said. Another kernel. “I’d stay.”

The lights on the tree seemed to glow more brightly. I looked at them for a moment, then the words came out. “Come to my place,” I said. “Move in.”

She sat straight up and looked at me. “What did you say?” she asked.

“Sorry – didn’t mean to just blurt that out,” I said. “But look – I’m here a lot; you’re at my place a lot more. And you have moved stuff in. Who are we kidding?”

 “Oh Thomas...you're serious about this, aren't you?” Her voice was low. We were warm under the comforter. Too warm, so I lifted my side up. “I am. I am…completely serious,” I said. My heart was pounding. Charlotte’s hand ran along my thigh and gave it a squeeze. Her eyes turned toward me. “Then I guess we'd better start thinking about making room for me there.”

I leaned over and kissed her, then pulled away a few inches. “I hoped you would say that,” I said, my voice catching. The television was still on. She picked up the remote and shut it off. “Where to start?” she asked.

For a moment we were still. Then we moved. Quickly.

By the time we reached the bedroom our clothes were mostly off, my belt buckle clattering when it hit the floor; her blouse fluttering down. We fumbled at buttons, and the rest came off easily. No words now. Just hands and quiet sounds and warmth and soft skin and longing. Two people creating their own gravity.

A sharp intake of breath. And then. Oh. Oh God.

After a few moments, her breath was hot in my ear. “Thomas,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”

There was nothing for me to say.

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